


embers in the wind

by houseofskywalker



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: A hell lot of drama, Angst, F/M, Family Drama, Flashbacks, Fluff, Past Relationship(s), Politics, Romance, Royalty, Tragic Romance, it gets incredibly sad at one point so, this is absolute niche fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 03:24:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12808557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofskywalker/pseuds/houseofskywalker
Summary: “Remember when we kissed in a garden just like this? And fell into the rose bush?” she laughs, her dark eyes glittering in the light from the lanterns.“I do.”Not a day goes by that he doesn’t.One charity ball brings together two souls, separated by customs and Codes and the passage of time—but not without the additional baggage of their memories.





	embers in the wind

**Author's Note:**

> One evening, my angst hoe self came up with the idea that perhaps, Obi-Wan loved Breha Organa. And maybe, just maybe, she loved him back. Which spawned this. An angsty romance with some politics and world-building thrown in with not much of a happy ending, but a happy middle, and a very happy start. The tense changes from present which indicates present, and past which indicates ... past. This fic will switch between past and present and Obi-Wan and Breha's POV. Happy reading!

Obi-Wan has always known of Bail Organa's marriage and to whom. How could anyone not? Despite the Queen's scarce presence in the Senate—understandably—no soul in the galaxy is oblivious to the joined households of the Queen and Senator of Alderaan.

He has a physical copy of the HoloNet announcement, which was put out well over a decade ago. Obi-Wan looks at it sometimes.

Now, he takes it out and sticks it to his mirror. His fingers follow the familiar trajectory of tying his robes together, but his eyes stay on the poster. It has been gathering dust in his drawer and the black and white image of the bride and groom is faded, barely comprehensible. 

Obi-Wan leans his forehead against the glass, lost in his memories. The quality of the poster matters little to him. Despite how much the lines of her face blended into each other on the poster, he still knows every saturated speck of colour in her bottomless eyes and the exact shade of brown her hair turns into in the starlight reflecting off the Alderaan mountains. 

The rich tones of her skin. 

The russet of her lips ...

* * *

She hasn’t always been Queen, or the wife of Bail.

He hasn't always been Jedi Master Kenobi.

But the Negotiator made an appearance far earlier.

* * *

Ever since the rocky start of his apprenticeship with Master Qui-Gon when he was thirteen, Obi-Wan had been eager in all their pursuits. Whatever mission the Council presented before them, Obi-Wan showed the utmost enthusiasm— _beaming_ , and smiling a little too brightly for the Masters' comfort.

But it got the job done, and so far, the unlikely Master and Padawan duo maintained a hundred percent success rate. If Qui-Gon fostered even a modicum of uncertainty regarding Obi-Wan's almost wild dutifulness (an oxymoron only one individual such as Obi-Wan could create), he did not let on. He trusted Obi-Wan. Their bond was taut as a string but was not _quite_ a string; theirs was a rope, twisted and wrought of harsh material originating from their harsh initial encounter, but it was _strong_. Unbreakable. Qui-Gon expected nothing yet everything from him: the demands were silent, but palpable. And why would Obi-Wan not be able to meet those demands? He had much potential. He had many talents.

One of which, was his diplomacy.

It was his ability to effortlessly engage any and every being in the near vicinity, to convince and persuade and threaten without the actual threatening, which landed them a mission to Alderaan. A monarchical dispute between two major houses. 

And for the first time ever, Obi-Wan was not feeling it.

“Why the Alderaanians cannot move past these archaic practices and develop a functioning democracy is beyond me,” Obi-Wan muttered, in the privacy of his shared quarters with his Master. They were to leave soon, which left them no time to pack nor to discuss, prompting Obi-Wan to share his thoughts while he still could. “The people should choose who they're governed by, instead of having to entertain tedious matters like which royal shot whose poodle.”

“That is why,” said Qui-Gon, “we are to do it for them.”

“How about no one has to? It irritates me, Master.”

“A Jedi feels not irritation.” His Master’s eyes glittered in amusement. “But elation. Allow me to address your concerns once we touch down on the planet. You will be surprised at the attitude of the planet's inhabitants towards their monarchy.”

Obi-Wan scratched his nose. He wouldn’t have the chance to act this undignified on Alderaan. He swung his bag—sack, really—over his shoulder. “Alright, Master. So ... what exactly is this ‘dispute’ over? No poodles were harmed, right?”

“No, Padawan, not this time,” he laughed. “But there is a succession issue, I believe. Which has only been exacerbated by more ... personal issues.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It is quite a mess.” Qui-Gon gestured for him to follow. He led Obi-Wan to the hangar bay, where their modest Jedi cruiser awaited them. Once they settled in the cockpit, Qui-Gon the driving force behind the vehicle with Obi-Wan as his co-pilot, he continued: “The right to the throne is being contested by the House of Iveocatel. Currently, the next in line is Princess Breha from House Antilles.”

“Contested on what grounds? And by who exactly? Who’s leading the ‘charge’?”

“Mara Antilles Iveocatel.”

Obi-Wan sputtered, “Mara _Antilles_?”

“Mara Antilles Iveocatel, yes. Sister of Queen Deandra Antilles, who is mother of Princess Breha. She insists that the throne should go to _her_ children, since Breha is adopted.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan felt a little out of his depth. For all he knew, Qui-Gon was only slinging names at him with little significance to the actual mission. He _was_ excited, even if royals tended to annoy him, but he had to admit that it would’ve been nice had the Council not put this on them only one hour prior with no chance for research. 

He cleared his throat. “Then, what is the state of adoption over there?”

“Full acknowledgement. Adopted children are considered blood kin. But I suspect Miss Mara Antilles Iveocatel is looking for loopholes as we speak.” Qui-Gon suddenly turned his head, as if remembering something. “Padawan, what is the climate of this planet?”

“Temperate. No monsoons. Warm, except for the mountainous regions,” he rattled off, recalling basic facts from his geology lessons.

Qui-Gon deftly turned the joystick, taking a sharp left from a rocky-looking planet and jumped into hyperdrive. “So … this mission does not enthuse you. Unusual.”

Obi-Wan rubbed his hands together, a nervous habit. “It's not that. I'm just…" He swallows. “I don't appreciate the Council sending us on this mission with no prior warning.”

“Ah. I suppose it's another lesson they wish to teach you. How to walk into a situation unprepared and not give any indication of such,” smirked Qui-Gon. 

“Master, please. Do not—”

“Belittle the Council? Have a sense of humour?”

“No,” said Obi-Wan, just a _tad_ defensively. “I suppose... you are right. There is a lesson to be learned here.”

“Brace yourself. We’re coming out of hyperspace.”

“What? Alread—”

Obi-Wan was slung backwards with the force of their exit, the back of his head hitting his chair. But the pain in the base of his skull was quickly forgotten as Alderaan came into view. He looked on it with awe. It was a planet with marine blue seas and green, fertile land, its famous mountains high enough that it could be seen from space. 

It was one thing to read about its beauty from the tomes in the library, but another to witness it in person.

He smiled dumbly all the way through landing. With the diplomatic missions piled on him, Obi-Wan expected to lose the wonder he had every time he visited a new planet. But the skies were so blue it hurt his eyes, there was little noise but that of ... cicadas? ... and the crisp air made its home in his lungs. Who wouldn't want to be here?

The hangar bay was located outside, near a forest teeming with life, and Obi-Wan stepped out on wet grass. Qui-Gon looked lost for a moment before he started rustling through his own bag. “Master …?”

“Wait _one_ second ... aha! Here you go, Obi-Wan.”

He stared at the scratchy-looking fabric Qui-Gon had pushed in his arms, uncomprehending. “Eh?”

“The Antilles residence is situated in the mountains. You will need it. The weather there is cold, did you not say?”

He shrugged it on. “I did. Thank you, Master. But what about you?”

“I have my beard to keep me warm!”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and turned around to greet the delegation welcoming them. A tall woman dressed in a green gown with a single peacock feather in her hair approached. He bowed first, as was custom. “Milady.” 

Qui-Gon repeated the gesture with a warmer smile.

She curtseyed. “Hello, Master Jedi. I hope your journey was a safe one.”

“Thank you for your concern,” said Obi-Wan. “May I have the pleasure of your acquaintance?”

She smiled and her shoulders shuddered, as if she was holding down a giggle. “Certainly. Deara Antilles.”

_The princess,_ Obi-Wan heard his Master’s familiar voice in his mind.

_But I thought—_

_Younger sister._

He smiled.“Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi. And this is my Master, Jedi Knight Qui-Gon Jinn.” 

Deara’s mouth twitched seeing Qui-Gon’s disheveled appearance and his wordy greeting. Obi-Wan gritted his teeth. 

Qui-Gon folded his arms together. “And where is the rest of your family, princess?”

“Well, my mother is at the castle. Her health did not agree with her this morning, otherwise she would've been right here with me. As for my sister …” Deara looked at her watch. “She should've been here by no—”

“Here! Sorry, I’m la— _oh_!”

It was as if everything slowed down for one glorious moment, and later on, Obi-Wan would remark that it was quite like a holocomedy. He watched, impassive, as something crashed into Princess Deara, causing her to be bowled over and falling on Qui-Gon. His Master, despite what one might assume from his rugged composure, was quick and caught her. 

Obi-Wan, however, had still much to learn. 

A flash of brown and red was all he got as warning when suddenly he, too, was being used as a crash site. Obi-Wan instinctively grabbed hold of whoever fell on him as he tripped backwards and went rolling down a small hill. A girlish scream nearly popped his eardrums before he found himself at the base of the hill at last, and felt hair falling over his face. He pushed it away.  And waited.

She lifted her head. A brown, diamond-shaped face. Ruddy mouth. Impossibly dark eyes. Something, _someone_ truly unforgettable.

“Sorry,” she blurted out. “I lost my footing.”

He laughed, to his own surprise. “I can see. Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

She folded her hands over his sternum, using them as a chin rest, and peered at him with curiosity. “Princess Breha Antilles. Hi.”

_Well, damn._

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are very appreciated and keep me going!


End file.
